


hope is a four letter word

by syntheticvoiddoll



Category: The Transformers (IDW Generation One)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Alternate Universe - Coffee Shops & Cafés, Alternate Universe - Gender Changes, No War AU, Other, Pre-Relationship
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-09
Updated: 2020-12-09
Packaged: 2021-03-10 08:15:18
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,684
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27967424
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/syntheticvoiddoll/pseuds/syntheticvoiddoll
Summary: With the cafe shut down, Wing untied her apron and folded it neatly in her hands as she trotted over to Drift. They gave her that same aloof, almost cross look, which she had figured was their default expression. “Ready?”Drift pursed their lips. “Am I?”Wing chuckled. “I messaged a friend a bit ago. She’s agreed to help out.” Drift didn’t seem thrilled, but they shrugged and stood from the booth.“Where’s this friend of yours?” They stared around the dimly lit street while Wing locked up.“She and her sister rent a flat a little further into town. It’s not that long a walk.”
Relationships: Drift | Deadlock & Wing
Comments: 2
Kudos: 14
Collections: HOMEMADE: A Transformers AU Zine





	hope is a four letter word

**Author's Note:**

> This was my fic for the [Homemade Zine](https://twitter.com/TFAUzine). It was very fun to work on. Hopefully if I have the time, I will be able to work in this AU more! In the meantime, I hope you enjoy this initial bit!

Wing leaned against the counter and sighed at the empty shop. This was gearing up to be a very, very slow shift, and as manager she had to see to closing the shop up that night. Home wouldn’t be  _ that _ much more stimulating, but she’d have more options. There were only so many times she could polish the counters and the mixers and the dispensers… or restock and organize the cabinets… or combine ingredients in new and frightful ways. She was deeply considering embellishments to her apron when the chime of the door caught her attention. She grinned with genuine enthusiasm — just seeing another spark at this point would be great.

Her expression sobered upon closer inspection of the mech who’d slunk inside: dim optics, dull and dented plating... Primus. Wing knew this part of Rodion was easily accessible to the slums — likely where this poor spark had come from. 

“Hello,” she called. “Can I help you?”

They shuffled forward. “I, uh…”

“Are you okay?” Wing made no sudden movements, fearing the mech would spook like a wild creature. 

“Just — heard there might be some job opportunities ‘round here. I… thought I might try…”

From the grim line of their lips and the tight hunch of their shoulders, Wing guessed their previous attempts hadn’t gone well. “What’s your name?”

Dim golden optics jolted to meet her gaze. Wing smiled encouragingly. “Uh… it’s Drift.”

“Nice to meet you, Drift. I’m Wing.” Drift looked at Wing like she’d sprouted another helm. The flier chuckled. “You look hungry. How about some energon, on me?” Wing didn’t want to consider how long it had been since Drift last refueled. They looked wary; again she had the mental image of a feral creature.

Wing took a few slow steps down the bar to swing open the access door. “If you want, you can draw a cube yourself,” she offered. 

Drift glowered for another solid minute before they slunk through the open door. It took her only a few minutes to show Drift how to pull energon from the tap and soon they both had a cube. Drift stayed silent through the whole affair, staring unceasingly at Wing until they finally asked: “Do you own this place?”

Wing shook her helm. “Nah, but I’m usually here. I’m in management.” The shop didn’t employ many people, but… she looked at Drift and felt her spark clench. If she vouched for someone, Axe and Dai Atlas would hear her out. She couldn’t imagine turning away someone in such obvious need as Drift. 

“So a job isn’t in your control,” they concluded glumly.

A grin spread over her lips. “I  _ do _ have hiring privileges. I can give you a job and vouch for you to the owners. They’re good people.”

Drift bit their lip, staring into their energon. “...And you’d do that.”

“Yes,” Wing said immediately. 

“Why?” Drift said. “You don’t know me, and I’m…”

“In need of a job,” Wing supplied, before Drift continued. “And  _ I’m  _ in need of some new faces around this place. So, what do you say?” 

Drift’s plating flared and settled as they rolled their lower lip between their denta. “I’d be a fool not to accept.”

Wing chuckled. “After coming in here seeking a job, I’d say so.” This was a tease, of course, but it earned her a brief glare. “Do you have any pressing concerns?”

Drift sighed. Too many, that weary sound said to Wing. But as their gaze focused down at their own frame, they shifted their weight around. “How will I make myself presentable? I don’t have much access to functional showers…”

“Well, I could lend you some…” Inspiration struck and a wide grin spread over her lips. “Actually, I have an idea, if you hang around until closing time. You can sit anywhere.” 

Drift grunted and slipped back through the swinging door. They scooted into a booth close enough to the bar to keep Wing in sight, pulling their legs up into the seat with them.

— 

With the cafe shut down, Wing untied her apron and folded it neatly in her hands as she trotted over to Drift. They gave her that same aloof, almost cross look, which she had figured was their default expression. “Ready?”

Drift pursed their lips. “Am I?”

Wing chuckled. “I messaged a friend a bit ago. She’s agreed to help out.” Drift didn’t seem thrilled, but they shrugged and stood from the booth. 

“Where’s this friend of yours?” They stared around the dimly lit street while Wing locked up.

“She and her sister rent a flat a little further into town. It’s not that long a walk.”

Drift watched Wing suspiciously, though they still followed. Their plating flared as they walked, like they were trying to make their frame look bulkier. It would be cuter if it weren’t sad.

Wing sent another message when they arrived. No response, aside from the notification that it had been read. Wing shook her helm. Sunstreaker had agreed to help, sure, but she hadn’t been enthusiastic. And she had an acidic glossa sometimes… 

Hopefully Sideswipe would be out; Sunstreaker was quieter without her boisterous twin making games out of irritating her.

Drift followed, stony as ever as they glared at their surroundings. Their plating laid flat again, but their EM field withered closer to their frame as they trooped down to the correct door. Wing smiled encouragingly at them as she pressed the page.

Without word or sound from Sunstreaker, the door audibly unlocked. Wing opened it and they squinted inside. Every light in the flat was on. “Sunstreaker…?” 

“Back here,” came a voice further inside the apartment. Obediently, Wing followed it to the room Sunstreaker preferred for painting. With easels and canvases pushed aside, Sunstreaker had set up a detailing station. She sat on a stool in the middle, polishing some wax into the plating on her arm. 

When Sunstreaker finally looked up, it was almost too much for Wing — the gold mech and Drift wore similar scowls of disgust. Sunstreaker sighed as she packed away her polishing things. “Let’s get to the washracks, then.” She walked right past them and out of the room. Wing gave Drift an apologetic look, but led them through the flat behind Sunstreaker. 

Ahead, they could hear the sound of a shower starting. “Sunstreaker.”

“What?” Sunstreaker didn’t look away from fiddling with the balance of the stream’s mix.

“This is Drift,” Wing attempted. This was typical for Sunstreaker, but she could try to make this more  _ pleasant _ . “Drift, this is — ”

“Yeah, I got it,” Drift grunted.

Wing sighed softly. Peas in a pod. Still, she gave Drift a reassuring look; they were looking cagey again.

“Well, are you just going to stand there?” Sunstreaker said over her shoulder. Drift walked forward with a scowl. Their plating rippled in a shiver as the spray poured over them. Wing bit back a laugh. The image Drift made scowling, shoulders hunched, optics glaring... They looked like a dejected cybercat getting rained on! 

Despite the tension, Drift and Sunstreaker got to work. Sunstreaker tackled the worst spots where Drift couldn’t reach, while Drift handled a quick scrub of their front. Their efforts revealed brighter white plating all over Drift’s frame. It was going far better than Wing might have hoped — until Sunstreaker tried to lift some plating on Drift’s hip to clean underneath.

Drift let out a sound between a yelp and a snarl, jerking away from Sunstreaker’s hands. Sunstreaker glared from her kneeling position. “There’s no way you’ll actually get clean if you don’t get under the plating, too,” she growled. She held up her cloth, which was stained a dark black-red where she’d snuck it between Drift’s plating. “There’s so much rust I’m surprised your plating isn’t rotting off your endoform…”

Drift glared hatefully over their shoulder, hands balled into fists. “Fraggin’ excuse  _ me _ for the state of the Dead End!” 

Sunstreaker rolled her optics. “I don’t care where you come from,” she shot back. “I’m supposed to clean you up so you don’t  _ look _ like a stray that that idiot brought in off the street.”

Wing cleared her vocalizer, to remind Sunstreaker she was still there. Sunstreaker ignored her. Drift looked angrier by the moment, grinding their denta as they narrowed their optics. “Fine,” they spat, “But give a warning before you grab under a mech’s plating.” 

Sunstreaker wasn’t impressed. “Don’t flatter yourself,” she muttered. She motioned Drift back over, and miraculously, Drift obeyed. It took a while, and several cleaning cloths, but at the end of it Drift looked drastically better. Their plating was drab and worn, but they were several shades whiter and, well. Wing couldn’t help thinking about how striking Drift would look with a new coat of white paint.

She didn’t want to push Sunstreaker’s generosity, however. 

Sunstreaker put her hands on her hips as she looked Drift over. Wing took it as a sign of approval when Sunstreaker pushed a few towels in their arms and nudged them towards Wing.

— 

They endured the succeeding wax and polish better than Wing had feared, though Drift was fidgety by the end. As they left, Sunstreaker promised an actual paint job when Drift had earned a few paychecks. Wing thanked her, smiling as she led Drift away.

Drift remained quiet; Wing wasn't sure if that was good or bad — they hadn't been talkative in the first place, but now... "You alright? I know Sunstreaker is...”

"M'fine. She did a good job, huh?" Drift said. They peered down at their own frame, looking a little dazed, almost...

...sleepy. Wing smiled. The shower and deep clean and waxing had no doubt relaxed all the tight joints and cables in their frame. "Yes, she did." Drift hummed absently. Wing chuckled. "Are you going to make it home?"

"Home?"

"Yes," Wing replied, optics glittering. "You look like you're about to recharge on your pedes.”

"Oh." Drift seemed lost as to how to reply. Or maybe they were just that tired. They eventually shrugged. "I'll be fine."

"Are you sure?" she said. "I'll walk with you wherever... I have to fly to get home no matter what, so..."

“I'm fine," they insisted. "You go on. Just..."

Wing paused. "Yes?"

Drift shuffled on their pedes."When’m I supposed to show up?" 

"Oh," Wing said. "Can you make it tomorrow morning? I'll talk with the owners when I get up."

"Okay," Drift said. They paused, like they intended to say something more, but instead continued down the street.

Wing released her flight panels. "Good night," she called. "See you then."

Drift only raised a hand in acknowledgement. Huffing in amusement, Wing took off into the night, plenty tired herself.

— 

Drift could hardly believe this. Their attempt at a round of job hunting had been to fulfill a promise, to vindicate their fatalism and pessimism — at no point had they expected to succeed!

They still didn't understand Wing, but they were grateful for the mech's nature. For the past two days, their tanks had been the fullest they could remember. In fact, they had to take their time not to drink everything at once, to avoid getting sick from too much higher-quality energon too quickly — not that they’d told Wing that. The jet had been upset enough when Drift admitted they didn't have access to more energon. 

Still, they wouldn't question their subspace being full of good energon. They figured it was worth it, slipping back to the Dead End even with the optic-catching polish on their frame. 

They found Gasket at one of their regular haunts, near an abandoned construction site. Gasket saw them first, catching Drift's attention with a low whistle. "Lookin' spiffy," Gasket remarked, gazing down at Drift from a scaffolding, their legs dangling over the side.

Drift snorted. "Yeah, yeah," they muttered. They started up the scaffolding themself, climbing with ease and familiarity until they settled next to Gasket. 

"Any specific reason?" Gasket asked.

Drift shrugged. Not because there wasn't a reason, but because words didn't come to them easily. Gasket understood that, of course, and they just sat together for a while.

"You keep going missing for a few days at a time and turning up looking cleaner or in good repair... I'm starting to wonder what you luck into," Gasket teased.

"Yeah, how should I fraggin' know," Drift muttered. It had been sheer luck that they’d ended up on that medic's circuit slab, too. How many good things were luck, anyway? It wasn't like they believed in providence.

After a few moments of silence, Drift dug into their subspace and offered a cube to Gasket. Their friend stared at it for a moment and gave it a quick sniff. "What, did they give this to you with the wax job?" 

Drift snorted. "Not quite," they grunted. "There's more where it came from."

Gasket squinted at them. "Drift, you didn't  _ steal  _ this much midgrade, right? You know they've been cracking down on it. You've got to be caref—"

"It's not stolen," Drift said. They’d never felt guilty for stealing, but it was nice to share energon with a friend that hadn't been ill-gotten, somehow. They knew the tale of their last few days would take a while, so they handed over another couple of cubes — half of what Wing’s charity — and told Gasket to just listen.

Gasket always did.

—

Drift hummed softly as they walked back through the streets, out of what felt like their territory and into the land of 'fixer-up' Rodion. They couldn't stay in any of the spots they normally did, or they'd ruin their _ own _ fixing-up real quick. Besides, it was bad enough walking around the Dead End like this; spending the night was unthinkable.

They didn't know anywhere else they considered 'safe' in this area, so they settled down in the doorway of the cafe again. It was hidden enough, and the overhang provided enough shelter.

Gasket had been suitably happy for them. Concerned, a little. Suspicious, definitely. But Drift tried their best to put their friend's fears to rest, and promised to keep bringing fuel. Especially when they were able to buy it on their own.

Strange, how suddenly that was a possibility — having enough to eat, and being able to provide for Gasket, too. What was next? A home? Getting clean?

Drift snorted; fat chance. But being able to feed themself and Gasket... that was enough. They settled into recharge on this comfortable thought.

Drift woke every hour on the head. Not unusual for them, and it helped them better judge when to 'get up' so they didn't draw suspicion from either Wing or any enforcers. When light just barely touched the sky, Drift finally sat up and began stretching. It wouldn't do to let their frame get stiff and locked up, especially after the repairs they'd received recently.

_ That _ was on their mind again, thanks to Gasket. That medic was the whole reason they'd even been wandering around, trying to find a job in the first place. Not immediately, of course. They hadn't gone off looking for a job after hearing a few kind words, despite whatever promises they might've made.

But running into the medic again, well... they'd felt an odd amount of shame. And they hadn't liked that they couldn't even tell her they'd tried, because they hadn't. Oh, they could lie, of course, and pretty convincingly. But they found it hard to lie to that damn medic. So they'd gone out, fully expecting to fail, just to alleviate their conscience. Maybe even to be able to tell her _ I told you so _ , next time.

Instead, Drift had run into Wing.

Funny how that happened. It was a kick in the teeth to their own spitefulness, they supposed. If Primus existed, she was laughing.

Besides, they doubted they'd ever see the medic again, so it didn't matter. What mattered was that, for once in their life, things were looking up. The hint of sunlight in the sky seemed something a little warmer, despite the cool temperature of the day. And that wasn’t so bad, after all.


End file.
